Roll Your Death
by troddensn0w
Summary: Thrown into an alternate dimension, Jamie Delaruse must find allies and shelter after he is enlisted to help overthrow a totalitarian government which mandates that death-row criminals must decide how they will be executed by rolling dice. First tag should be action. M for language, violence, and smut.


**A/N: I'm alive! I probably shouldn't be starting a new story, given everything else that's unfinished, but I've wanted to write this one for a while now. Some updates to other stuff should be here soon.**

Roll Your Death: Part One

Chapter One: New Beginnings

 _Jamie_

Shit. A bus. Probably going a way that's inconvenient for me. Still; take what you can get, right? I hold out my thumb, waiting. It doesn't take them long to see me. The bus stops, and the conductor indicates that I should get on. I do so, heading over to a seat near the back. Having sat down, the bus continues for a couple of minutes, and then, a jolt. A... rip, of a sort, has opened in front of us. It seems to be pulling us in, quite quickly now. Shit.

Pain. Throughout my body. Going into the rip feels like I'm being torn apart and put back together sloppily. I try to scream, but nothing comes out of my mouth, until we're spat out of the other side. Well, I'm spat out of the other side. The driver and conductor are gone. I hear a soft gasp from nearby, and look up. A girl. The same age as me, sixteen. Black hair, tangled, down to her chin. Bluejays shirt, black leggings, bare feet. Good-looking. "Hey," I manage to get out, and she looks up. "Can you help me up?" She nods, walking over and into the wreck. I lean up, and she grabs my hand, pulling me out of the almost-destroyed seat. I blink twice, rubbing my face. "Can you walk?" I nod, but indicate that I might need her support. With my arm around her shoulders, we head towards what appears to be a settlement nearby.

When we reach what I think is her house, I manage to stand up. Inside, the house is empty and fairly messy. She indicates that I should sit down on the sofa, so I do. She enters the kitchen, pours a glass of water, then comes back through and hands it to me. I drink it down quickly, and manage to ask her if I can have another one. Nodding, she returns to the kitchen and repeats the process. I swig it quickly, then put the glass down. "So, who are you exactly?" she asks, and I prepare my response.

My name's James Delaruse but I go by Jamie . I'm sixteen. I was born in Central London on the twelfth of January, 2001. My childhood wasn't great. When I was three years old, my father left. I never saw him again. After that, it went down a bit. My mother was ill a lot, and I had to look after myself very frequently. When I was eleven, my mother died. I lived with a friend who was a few years older for a few months, until I was twelve, then I had to leave. I would sometimes come back for a month or two at a time. I ended up trying to leave London when I was sixteen. I got into the countryside and found an abandoned farmhouse that I could stay in. Then, when I was forced to leave, that's when I found the bus.

"So, yeah. That's the concise story of my life. Simple," I finish. She slumps back onto the sofa, then gives me a joking pat on the head. "Seriously though, that doesn't sound great," she replies, then continues with "Do you need to sleep? I have a spare room or two. I'm the only one who lives here now." I nod, and she leads me up to an attic room with a couple of bookshelves, a bed, a stereo, and not much else. Going back down, she shouts up that she's found some spare clothes that she thinks should fit me. As she comes back up, I reach back for a blanket, which I find fairly easily. She puts them on my bed, then says "See you in the morning, Jamie," and leaves. I change into the spare clothes, then get into bed, and it takes a while to get to sleep. There's so much to think about. I'm in an alternate dimension. Jesus Christ. That's probably the biggest thing. I continue to think, but sleep manages to wash over me more quickly than I'd expected.

Morning. I can still feel all of my body parts, so that's good. I can still see all of my visible body parts, so that's good. Yawning, I sit up, rub the sleep stuff out of my eyes, change into my normal clothes and put on a spare hoodie, then head downstairs. The first thing I hear is "The name's Rosemarie, by the way, Rosemarie Carrowe. Want breakfast?" I reply in the affirmative, and she puts a couple of slices of bread into the toaster. "Thanks." She indicates that it should be a couple of minutes, so I sit down on one of the sofas and pick up a discarded book. _The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe._ Nice. I flip to the contents to find The Masque of Red Death, and sit back to read. Within seconds, I'm hooked yet again. I'm only drawn away when Rosemarie taps my shoulder and hands me a plate of toast, then starts to talk:

It actually fucking sucks here. The government is the main problem. They force people to roll dice determining how they'll be punished, or, if they're on death row, how they'll die. It started a few years ago, I think eight or nine. They began using methods that were less than ethical to take over, gunning down innocents to get the attention of the populace. That's how my parents died, two years ago. The fuckers killed my only family, and they continue to do the same sort of thing even now. I've been trying to amass a group to start a rebellion, but it's barely worked. Maybe you'll change things.

"So, Jamie, are you with me?" I push my hair out of my eyes and nod, ready to take on a totalitarian government. She grins, but indicates that now may not be the best time to start. "What happens now?" Sitting up, Rosemarie leads me out to a shed in her backyard, pulling a ring of keys out of her pocket as she does. She flips through them, and eventually finds what appears to be the shed key. That fact is confirmed when she opens the shed and exposes a stockpile of weapons. "Holy shit," I mutter under my breath, and she picks up a pistol and tosses it to me, followed by a pair of ear defenders and an ammo clip. I put on the defenders, as she indicates I should do. She grabs a shotgun, ear defenders, and a handful of shells which she deposits in her pocket, then leads me into the back alley where several targets are set up. What we're going to do is pretty obvious. I aim the pistol towards the first target, load it, aim it again, and fire. It misses, and the gun almost jerks out of my hand. "Shit!"

Rosemarie aims her shotgun, and fires, squeezing the trigger slowly. Bang. I can hear the gunshot through my ear defenders. The fragments of shell fly out, faster than the eye can see. The target takes a couple of hits, but remains mostly unscathed. We continue to take turns, my accuracy and recoil management slowly improving. Switching between weapons at varying intervals, we practise for well over two hours, eventually deciding to rest inside. I slip off my ear defenders and put the gun into my pocket. I'm glad to head inside, mainly because it's starting to rain.

The rain continues for hours. We eat lunch, do a bit of sparring (Rosemarie wins hands-down), have a game of Risk (I win this time), then eat again. At nine-o clock, I head upstairs with the Poe book, change, then lie down in bed, the rain continuing. I stay there for about an hour, then realise that there's water dripping onto me from leaks in the roof. Before long, my t-shirt is damp pretty much all over. I pull it off, then head downstairs to Rosemarie's room. She opens the door and speaks: "Is the attic leaking?" I nod, and she invites me in. Most of the room is filled with books. A PlayStation sits on a table, a controller next to it. The books are ordered by series, but not by much else. Some of the shelves are spilling over. Orwell, Tolstoy, Salinger, almost every Stephen King book, too much to take in. "Nice collection," I say quietly, and she indicates some space on the bed. I lie down, and darkness envelops me quickly, with the comfort of another warm body beside me.

 **Boom. Done. AngryBritishGuy, you're fucking welcome.**


End file.
